


I Drove All Night

by Vibrant_D



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst and Feels, Eating Disorders, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 04:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16757299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vibrant_D/pseuds/Vibrant_D
Summary: Trigger Warning: eating disorders are discussed in detail in this fic.  Please take caution when reading.Timmy falls into some unhealthy patterns with food on the set of Beautiful Boy.  He reaches out to Armie for help and they spend a day together, working through things.





	I Drove All Night

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my lovely editor and friend, @inthemid80s for helping me refine this chapter. She is an amazing support and is so encouraging. :)
> 
> Oh, and thanks to Celine Dion for singing "I Drove All Night" which was part of the inspiration for this fic.

“Please, I need you...” Timothée hoarsely whispered into the phone.  

“Tim, do you know what time it is?” Armie whined, cupping his mouth, in an effort to stay quiet.  He’s an arm’s length away from Liz, but the conversation doesn’t wake her.    
“Yeah, I know.  I’m sorry.  I wouldn’t be calling you if it wasn’t an emergency.  I know it’s a lot to ask, but I feel like I’m losing it.  I’m scared.  I really need you.  Can you please?”  Timothée’s voice cracked with the last word and let his soft sobs go.  

Armie draws a slow, deep breath and quietly replies, “Of course, I’ll be there for you.  I’ll get on the road in a few minutes.  Let me just tell Liz what’s going on.  Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Armie, I don’t know if I even have the words.  Maybe with you I can figure it out.”

“Okay, that’s okay.  Will you be all right waiting?”

“Yes, I’m just going to sleep a little.  How long does it take, 6 or 7 hours?”  
“That sounds about right.  Send me your address.  And Tim, call me if you aren’t safe.  Lay your head down, babe.”

Timothée, still quietly sobbing, manages to say, “Thanks babe.... I will.... see you soon.”

Timothée relaxes down onto the bed in his rental.  He got a house during the filming of Beautiful Boy in hopes that he’d feel more stable.  So far, it’s not helping.  He’s losing his sense of self in this role.  It’s something he’s been warned about in many different ways, by many different people, but no amount of warning helps you avoid it.  You have to live it and he’s in the thick of it.  Slowly sinking to the bottom of the deep end.  The call to Armie was his cry for a life preserver.  Some of the stress seeps out of his body between the crying and knowing that Armie is on the way and he closes his eyes.  

Armie hesitates for a moment preparing himself for a difficult conversation with his wife.  He hates waking her, but he must.  Armie reaches out a hand and shakes her shoulder gently.  She registers his touch and startles.  
“What is it?  Are the kids okay?” She looks genuinely scared.  Armie never wakes her up.  

“The kids are okay, but Timmy’s not. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m scared he’s unsafe.  He asked me to go help him.”

“Unsafe, what do you mean?  Like he’s going to hurt himself?”  
“He promised me he wouldn’t but I have to see him, to be sure.” 

“But what about our plans tomorrow? Our friends will be disappointed with us cancelling last minute.  They’ve been waiting forever for us to get together.”  

“Liz, I don’t know what to say?  You can go without me or cancel.  Shit comes up.”

“Armie, fine.  I’m not happy about this, but I guess I can’t stop you.”

“Please understand.  He’s my friend.  He needs my help.”

“Okay,” she sighs, laying her head back down and crossing her arms.  

Armie knows there may be a fight waiting for him when he comes back, but he’s willing to risk it for his Timothée.  He gets dressed, puts on some coffee and scribbles a note to Liz saying he’ll be back in 24 hours.  Grabbing his drink, he gets into the car and turns on the GPS headed toward San Francisco.  

He lets the caffeine do its work and finds some fast-paced music to keep his energy up.  The drive from LA to SF feels like torture, knowing his lover is in trouble.  Being a parent, he’s familiar with worry.  He has the same instincts toward Timothée.  He sees him as precious, fragile, a gift to be protected at all costs.  The trouble is, he doesn’t know what to do.  Often times, with the kids, he doesn’t know what to do, but he figures it out.  They have the problems of a four and two-year-old, so the solutions are often simple.  The problems of a 22-year-old are significantly more complex.  He reminds himself that he has critical thinking skills and can do something useful.  If he can’t, he’ll get Brian or his parents involved.  Timothée might need to take a break from shooting if this is as bad as it seems.  His worry carried him all the way and he arrives as the sun is breaking at the bay.  He drove all night to get to him.    
Realizing Timothée didn’t tell him how to get in, he gets up to the front door and looks around.  There’s a suspicious looking potted plant, that conceals a key beneath.  Armie feels strange about letting himself in, but he’d rather do that than wake him.  

Taking in the place, he admires the craftsmanship of the bungalow.  It’s a beautiful home full of dark wood and sleek furniture.  Searching the halls, he finds the bedroom and sees Timothée sleeping sprawled out on top of covers in black sweats that look huge on him.  His cheeks are sunken in even more than usual and from the door Armie can see the dark circles under his eyes.  His breathing is shallow. Other than that he is completely still.  Armie’s heart hurts.  He looks sick, so sick.  And incredibly small.  He wouldn’t dare wake him.  Timothée is obviously in need of as much sleep as he can get.  Armie wants to hold him, so he slips into the bed and wraps an arm around, pulling him close.  Timothée registers the touch, but doesn’t wake up fully.  Armie needs some rest himself, so he allows the sleep to come.  The relief he feels from having him in his arms is enough to let him relax, finally.  

Armie awakes with a start to a familiar noise.  Timothée isn’t in bed with him, but he hears him gagging and dry heaving from the bathroom.  Armie jumps up to go check on him.  He’s draped over the toilet and looks up with red rimmed eyes.  Timothee’s been crying.  Armie gets down on his knees and starts rubbing his back, hoping to soothe something.    
“Tim, babe, are you okay?  What do you need?”

Timothée can’t speak, he just sobs, tears streaming heavily.  The crying triggers another round of heaving and Armie keeps making big circles on his back, pushing his hair out of the way.  When he lifts his head again, Armie sees there’s nothing in the toilet, but a little streak of blood.  It’s probably been ages since he last ate.  

“Tim, should I call the doctor?”

He finally gets some words out in a weak tone, “I don’t want you to, yet.  Can you just try to get me better and if it doesn’t work call her later?”  

Armie doesn’t trust this, but he wants to respect Timothée’s wishes and promises himself he won’t let this go too far.  “Okay, okay.  Let me run to the store real quick.  Just sit here and try to sip some water.”  He gets water from the tap and hands him the cup.  His grip is weak and he almost drops it.  Timothée holds it with both hands and takes a tiny sip.  “Good, babe.  Keep doing that.”

Armie sprints out and slams his car door.  He feels the strong urge to cry, but knows he doesn’t have time.  Armie finds the nearest Walgreens and rushes in, grabbing supplies as quickly as possible.  Ginger ale, Gatorade, crackers, soup, an assortment of medications to soothe his stomach.  He drops his wallet from his shaky hands at the checkout, but manages to collect himself and rush back out.  Every minute counts and he grips the wheel, trying to keep his composure.  Armie parks and rushes back in.  He finds Timothée laying on the bathroom floor and yells his name in fear.  He turns his head, “It just feels good.  I didn’t fall.”  Armie lets out a forceful sigh and lets his first tears fall.  “Jesus, Timmy, I thought...  I thought...” His voice cracks as he lets more tears fall.  The thought of losing him puts Armie on high alert, but he wants Timothée to read him as calm.  Panicking will only worsen this experience for Timothée. 

Timothée pushes himself up to a seated position.   “Come here, come here.  It’s okay,” he says while reaching his arms up.  Armie can’t help but see him as a child in this moment, even though Timothée is trying to soothe him with his words.  He takes Timothée’s hands and kneels down, scooping him up. Timothée wraps one arm around Armie’s neck and uses the other hand to wipe away his tears.  Timothée feels the grip of guilt in his stomach, knowing he caused Armie to cry. Armie places him propped up with pillows gently on the bed, then digs in the bags for the medicine.  He carefully pours some red liquid into a little cup and lifts it to Timothée’s lips.  “Drink, baby.”  He shifts his eyes up to Armie’s and looks so helpless as he takes tiny sips from the cup.  Getting the medicine down, a look of relief washes over both their faces.  “Oh, that feels better,” Timothée says, placing his hand on his concave abdomen.  Armie turns to run to the kitchen and gathers some glasses.  He returns and fills a cup with ginger ale. 

“You need to get some calories in you, babe.  Drink as much of that as you can.  We’ll see how you do, then try some food.”  
Timothée takes the glass, but doesn’t drink.  He looks up with a guilty face.  “Armie, as you can probably tell, I haven’t been eating much.  Things got out of hand with this role... my head’s all messed up.  I feel scared to eat.”  He felt better getting this confession off his chest.  There hadn’t been an occasion to tell anyone about this yet, or rather he was afraid to tell anyone but Armie.  

Armie sits on the edge of the bed and Timothée can see his gears working, trying to figure out the right thing to say.  “Tell me more.  Where did this start?  What happened exactly?” Armie does his best to leave accusation out of his voice.  

Timothée starts in telling him about the negotiations for his contract and how Felix wanted him to drop weight to play the part convincingly.  Brian and Timothée mulled this over for a while because obviously, it would be dangerous if he got any thinner.  After careful consideration, Timothée agreed because he loved the story and wanted to be involved in a meaningful project.  Felix had Timothée consult with a nutritionist and they devised a plan to help with the weight loss, in the most careful way possible.  But no matter how careful, everyone knew this came with risks, just not the ones they anticipated.  Timothée followed the guidelines, and saw the pounds come off, quickly.  Frighteningly fast.  When he was close to the goal, he secretly imposed more restrictions on himself, because he was terrified of the consequences of putting weight back on, amongst other reasons.  He didn’t want to face Felix being disappointed or angry if he didn’t look right for the part.  This could also have been his way of taking control of his body in a chaotic time. Felix was intense and aloof. Timothée often felt like he was waving in the wind, without an anchor to hold him down. Then for the last couple weeks, it became a game.  Timothée started to experiment with how little he could eat and still get by.  It was like he was possessed and food had become the enemy.  When he didn’t eat, he felt powerful, high, like he could forget his problems. Other times he just felt numb, which was preferable right about now. But there was a tiny voice in the back of his head, telling him to stop.  He couldn’t figure out how, and most of the time he just didn’t want to.  Now, with how weak and sick he felt, he knew to get Armie involved.  He needed someone else to take responsibility, because he couldn’t handle this anymore.  What no one knew was that he’d been here before, a few times.  No matter how much he learned in the past, he occasionally fell under this spell and lost all self-control.  Timothée was chasing that feeling of hollowness and once he achieved it he never wanted to budge.  He wasn’t sure if he could share this with Armie, yet.  He was convinced he never noticed and Timothée didn’t want him to think he was weak or damaged, so he saved some things back.  

Armie listened intently, but let the sadness show on his face.  He hurt for Timothée and he wondered if part of this was his fault.  Armie wasn’t as good at answering messages, finding time away for a call, giving Timothée the attention he needs.  They both understand that what they can give each other is limited, but Armie couldn’t anticipate Timothée suffering this much and not telling him until now.  He felt hurt that he wasn’t involved sooner, but also understood the shame associated with this problem.  This wasn’t the first time he had to help a partner through an eating disorder.  He knew to tread lightly.  

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry I haven’t been here for you...”  
“No, no, no... this isn’t on you.  Please don’t blame yourself,” Timothée replied, gritting his teeth.

“I don’t blame myself.  I know I can’t control this kind of thing, I just wish I could have been more available to you.  I never want you to feel like you’re alone.”

“You’re here now and that means so much to me,” Timothée whispers as a few more tears roll down his cheeks.  Armie takes his hands in both of his and leans in placing a light kiss on his lips.  “Je t’aime, you know that right?” Armie asks Timothée, while cupping his pale cheek with his palm.  Armie waits for him to nod and kisses his forehead.  “You can take more of this medicine.  Do you want it?”  He agrees and accepts the cup from Armie, taking it down easily this time.  You can see some stress melt off his face.  “I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want to do, so I want to hear it from you.  What is the best thing to do right now?”

Timothée takes a moment, staring intensely into Armies eyes, hoping he will forget he asked this question.  He doesn’t want to deal with the bluntness of this, but knowing Armie, he won’t let it go.  Timothée lets his anger wash him over, but he doesn’t have much energy to convey it.  “If I knew what to do I would have helped myself” he says grinding the words out of his mouth with a glare on his face.  

That comment bit Armie.  Was he trying to make him feel inadequate?  No, no, that’s not it.  He’s played this game before.  This is the manipulation coming out.  He won’t engage.  “Okay, babe, I’m not sure either, but I’ll stay until we figure it out.  Let’s go to the living room and just be together.  Do you want any of this stuff I brought?”

He bit his lower lip for a moment, pondering what he could tolerate in this moment.  “Okay, yeah.  The medicine and the Gatorade, please.”  Armie calmed when he got this response, but mentally prepared himself for more negativity.  He wasn’t sure that was the last he would see of it.  

Armie picked him up again with a calmer head and was astounded at how little he weighed.  He’d picked him up many times on the set of CMBYN, so he was familiar with the heft of his body.  This was noticeably less.  Armie took him to the sectional couch, a comfortable spot for them to sprawl out.  He sat down, keeping Timothée in his arms as he lowered.  Once seated, Timothée didn’t move.  He clung to Armie and he tightened his grip as much as he could around his frail body.  This was what he needed, to be held and comforted.  To try to center in his body, connect with himself again.  Armie intuited that and allowed him to sit that way for as long as he wanted.  Timothée nuzzled his neck and let tears fall, wetting Armie’s shirt.  After he was somewhat comforted and the tears dried up, he decided to do something for Armie.  He asks for the Gatorade and drinks down half the bottle, searching his face for approval after he hands back the rest.  Armie doesn’t say anything, but ruffles his hair.  A sign of affection Armie performed since the moment they knew they were falling for each other.  Timothée seems to lighten with his touch.  “Armie, you know I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.  You know how I get on set.  It’s so hard to separate myself from the character.  This hunger and the roller coaster of emotions... they help me be Nic.  I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, constantly worried I’m going to fall, but loving the rush of adrenaline having my life on the line produces.  I’m just so stuck on that edge.  I don’t want to give anything up before we’re done shooting.”

This man always amazes Armie.  His insight is unparalleled and his dedication is fierce.  He wants to serve his characters to his fullest ability, no matter the cost.  How could no one have noticed him slipping?  Maybe it’s because he sticks to a script and seems present and professional on set.  It’s most likely he falls apart at home, away from any watchful eyes.  

“I do understand, Timmy.  Your dedication to your work is awe inspiring.  I’ve seen this first hand and been blown away.  But it can’t come at the expense of your life.”  There.  He said it.  No skirting around the subject.  Armie knew the danger in not eating.  He’d watched a girlfriend suffer through treatment and learned about the perils of anorexia.  Timothée flinched at his last word and pushed himself up, off his lap.  Standing, he spread his arms and yelled, “Why would you say that?  Do you want to hurt me?”  Timothée pounded his heart with a fist and fell into a coughing fit.  Armie was shocked at this display.  Maybe Timothée is really beyond reason right now.  Armie jumps up and holds on to Timothée, because he looks unsteady, his body racking with the cough.  Timothée looks up at Armie with dark eyes, “Why did you even come here?”  

Armie doesn’t worry about being manipulated.  He says the truth.  “Because I love you.  Because I don’t know how to live without you.  I want to protect you, keep you safe, watch you grow and find joy in life.  You are precious to me.  Our love is sacred.”  Armie surprised himself with this outpouring, but registered it to be accurate.  

“Then why weren’t you there for me?  How could you get so far away to not know this was happening?” Timothée begged.  

“That was my mistake.  I didn’t know what you needed.  I’ll try to be better.  I’ll make more time. Once you feel better we can talk more about how I can be there for you, okay?”

Timothée accepted this and reached his hands up to Armie’s face, pulling him in for a kiss.  He knew that Armie was a man of his word and he would do what he promised.  This time they lingered.  Armie wrapped his arms around his waist so their bodies were flush and Timothée felt some warmth grow in his chest.  He remembered the comfort of his hug, what it had done for him in the past, and his trust was completely renewed in Armie.  A glimpse of sanity took him over.  “I never want to be mean to you, I don’t know why I’m acting like this.”

“You’re fine, babe.  You don’t need to worry over me right now.  We’re focusing on you.  You want to sit down, and watch a movie?”  

“No, I’m going to try to eat, but I don’t want you to watch me, okay?”

“Whatever you need.  Let me put the soup on the stove.”  

Armie gets busy preparing the soup.  He puts out a plate with some crackers, cheese and cuts up a bit of fruit.  Timothée waits in the living room, keeping his distance.  Armie sets him a place on a stool at the island and tells him to come in.  “Here you go.  I’ll be waiting for you in the living room.  Take your time and yell for me if you need anything, okay?”  He kisses Timothée’s forehead, runs a hand through his hair and smiles.  

Timothée sits and argues with himself until he manages to get one grape in his mouth.  He forgot how good these tasted, and he’s almost angry that Armie wants him to do this, but he picks up a cracker, dips it in his soup and takes a bite.  The flavor of the broth was familiar and calming, so he picked up the spoon and slowly made his way through most of the bowl.  He ate a few more pieces of fruit and felt like he had done enough to make Armie happy and feel okay with himself.  He makes his way back to the living room and sinks down, next to Armie.  He asks if they can watch Dark Knight and Armie gets it set up.  Armie knows not to ask about the food, but he’ll check the plate later.  He pulls Timothée close and they get under a blanket.  Somewhere along the way they doze off again and Timothée stirs when the credits start rolling.  He gently shakes Armie and he rouses.  “Oh, sorry babe.  I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Timothée feels a rush of anxiety, asking this question, but he must. “Hey, Armie...  can you help me take a bath?  I think I need one.”

“Of course, stay here and I’ll go run the water.”  Armie makes sure the water is the right temperature and throws in some salts from a jar on the counter.  He goes to get Timothée, but he is already standing in the door.  “Hey” they say to each other, cracking smiles, but then Timothée’s falls.  
“I don’t want you to see me like this.  It’s embarrassing.”  

“Do you want me to leave?  I can wait outside.”

After a pause, changing his mind, “No, maybe it will help me to have you see.”  Armie swallows hard, trying to prepare himself for what’s next.  “Can you help me with my clothes?”

Armie takes a step forward and grabs the hem of his sweatshirt, lifting it slowly.  Once it’s off he looks down and sees so many bones.  It’s as if every one is visible and his skin has a greenish yellow tint to it.  Timothée looks so ashamed, but he won’t see any disappointment in Armie’s face, just kindness and empathy.  Armie crouches down and carefully slides down his pants and underwear, steadying him as he lifts his feet to slip them off.  Timothée smells earthy, not dirty, and Armie slyly takes in his scent, trying to savor it. Armie rises to his feet and takes his hand, as he carefully steps into the warm bath.  Timothée sinks down and closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation of the warmth.  He looks up and asks if Armie can help him with the soap.  Armie takes off his sweater, just in a white t-shirt and jeans, now.  He scoops the water up. Letting it wash down from his head.  Armie lathers his hair and rinses it while he squeezes his eyes shut.  Timothée can’t seem to speak.  He’s struggling with his neediness in this moment.  He never could have imagined needing help being bathed as an adult.  This would feel better if he didn’t need it, but just wanted it. There’s no way he can avoid this need and the way Armie tends to him feels so intimate.  Armie grabs a wash cloth and lathers it, slowly, gently scrubbing his body, starting with his neck.  Timothée uses this sensation to ground in his body again, feel connected to it as his own, not the body that belongs to the role of Nic.  The body that loves Armie.  When Armie reaches his groin Timothée feels that familiar pressure of an erection begin, and opens his eyes to look at Armie.  Armie is trying to ignore the erection, knowing that his body is in a bad state right now.

“Armie, will you?  Can you just touch me there again?” Timothée asks weakly.

“You’re sure?  You feel well enough?” he says with concern.  Armie feels as if this request is taking things too far, but he never wants his lover to feel rejected. He knows saying no would most likely hurt him more than following through. 

“I need it.  I need to feel something good right now.  Please?”  Armie nods and takes a hold of Timothée, being as slow and gentle as he was with the washing of his body.  Timothee’s jaw works as he clenches his teeth.  He looks into Armie’s eyes and without words pleads with him to be more aggressive.  Armie trusts that he will know if he needs to stop and gives in to this request.  Timothée arches his back and squeezes his eyes shut, savoring this new rhythm.  He hasn’t been touched in a long while, by himself nor anyone else.  Armie’s working a little harder and his t-shirt gets splashed with the bath water.  Timothée opens his eyes again and sees his man with an unshaven face, messy hair, blue blazing eyes and he is overwhelmed with his beauty.  Memories of their past lovemaking sessions flood his memory and push him over the edge.  The release was perfect and Timothée remembered how good he can feel, especially with Armie, and sent his body a thank you in appreciation.  Armie smiled at him, relieved he could make it through the experience.  He felt so connected with this man.  Armie knows how important it is for Timothée to share this moment with him, to trust him when his body and mind are at their most vulnerable.  He has hope that this trust will keep Timothée moving forward and get him back to health.  Armie opens a big, fluffy towel for Timothée and helps him dry off, gently patting his hair and skin. 

“What you didn’t know is this was all a ploy to see you in a wet t-shirt,” Timothée says, laughing. Armie lets out a belly laugh of his own. His Timothée was coming back. His spirit is still in there. The happy go lucky joker still exists in that body. Timothée wraps the towel around his waist and places his hands on Armie’s wet chest, slowly moving them down to his waist and untucking his shirt. Armie removes the shirt and hangs it on a rack to dry. “Will you just lay with me for a little while?” he asks Armie, half expecting him to start talking about heading home. 

“Sure, I can,” he replies with ease. He must not be worried about the time. 

“Let me finish in here and I’ll be there in a second.” Timothée brushes his teeth and applies deodorant and a tiny spritz of the cologne Armie bought him on his neck. He sees Armie sprawled out on the bed in just his underwear. Timothée wishes he was well enough to please Armie right now, but his energy level and pain will keep him from that in this moment. This disappointment shows on his face. 

“It’s okay, Timmy. Come lay down. Let me hold you.” Armie doesn’t want him to feel bad over not being up for sex right now. Once he realized what was going on with Timothée, all hopes of sex flew out the window. When he went through this with his ex, it was months before she was comfortable enough to have sex again after treatment. Armie felt that Timothée’s openness to being seen and touched might be a good sign, or perhaps men just respond differently when they are ill in this way. His mind was busy running through ideas of how to help Timothée, but he knew it was best to quiet his thoughts and focus on holding him for a while. He opens his arms and Timothée drops his towel and slides into the little spoon position. Armie envelops him and they both enjoy the sensation of skin on skin. Timothée feels especially safe here and decides to let Armie in. Not looking into his eyes helps him open up. 

“Armie, I’m sorry I never told you this, but I’ve struggled with food in the past. I had to see a psychologist for a while in high school and later in college. I was diagnosed with anorexia. When I’m especially stressed I don’t eat. You never saw that in Italy, because nothing about shooting felt stressful to me. The atmosphere was so carefree that I could eat normally. But everything about this movie is stressful, from Felix, to the concept, to the pressure I’m putting myself under to do justice to Nic’s journey. It’s so much. Too much. I forgot how to take care of myself. I’m totally lost.”

Armie nuzzles into Timothée’s ear and whispers, “Thank you for telling me. This all makes so much sense. I just want you to be well.”

“I do too. This is such a strange profession. No one warns boys and men about the body image shit. I guess my thinking has always been, I’m going to be typecast as the spindly, emo guy and I need to be consistent. Once I saw myself getting a little belly in high school, I freaked out and started restricting. Even Brian doesn’t know about this. I’m sure he would have prevented me from taking this role if he knew.”

“Do you think it’s time he finds out?” Armie asked with hopes that his logic had been restored. 

“Yes, but let me do it in my own time, okay?” Timothée trusts that Armie will respect his wishes, but also secretly hopes that he will tell Brian. He doesn’t want to face that conversation. That’s something he’ll put away for a later talk. Armie kisses his neck, breathes deeply, enjoying the scent there, and agrees to stay quiet. “Do you think differently of me now?” Timothée asks with sorrow in his voice. Armie starts stroking the damp curls and buries his nose in the hair.  
“Absolutely not. You’re still you. We all have our crosses to bear. You know how much I struggle with my childhood and upbringing. I’m not without issues. I never expected you to be perfect. All I care about is your happiness and being there for each other.” What Armie didn’t say is that this is a lot to take on. He remembers too well how much torture he felt when he helped his ex through this. At the end of their relationship, he felt resentful for being a caretaker, but maybe he can have different boundaries with Timothée. He’s going to require different boundaries, regardless, with his responsibilities to Liz and the children. Armie will have to figure out how to engage Timothée’s support system, so he gets what he needs without constantly having him by his side. As long as Timothée is open and honest, this can be worked out. He still loves this man, so much. 

Armie asks Timothée to turn around and he flips over to face him. Grabbing Timothée’s chin he stares into his eyes and says, “I love you just the same. I hope you can feel that, even when we are apart.” He kisses Timothée deeply and they both part their lips, letting their tongues explore the other’s mouth. Armie savors his taste and pulls his body in close. Feeling unable to exercise control, Armie becomes hard and Timothée takes notice, sliding his hand under the waistband of his boxer briefs. When Timothée grasps Armie’s length, he sucks in breath, relishing the pressure of his hand. “We can’t,” Armie whispers. 

“I know, but let me touch you, please?” Timothée pleads with wide eyes. He changes his grip and brings both hands together to make a tight hole for Armie. This feels so good to Armie, he manages to overcome his worry and starts slowly thrusting into Timothée’s hands while placing kisses on his long neck. Timothée momentarily, reaches behind him and gets some lubrication from the drawer. He applies it to Armie’s shaft, and makes his tight grip again. Armie loves the feeling of this and speeds up, easily sliding between his long fingers. He places long licks along Timothée’s neck, helping him release some deep moans. Armie gently eases his hands down Timothée’s back and takes a hold of his cheeks. He reaches down one finger and places pressure against’s Timothée’s hole. The way his body responds, lets Armie know he’s experiencing pleasure as well, even if he’s not taking things as far as they’re used to. The sounds coming out of Timothée helps move Armie along and he orgasms, spurting onto Timothée’s stomach. Lightly panting, Armie pulls back and looks into Timothée’s eyes. Timothée speaks first. “I’m so happy I made you feel good, baby.” 

“You really did,” Armie says, pushing his curls off his forehead and landing a kiss there. Timothée feels some peace and knows that he will be safe, as long as he trusts Armie and others to help him. He feels like he belongs inside his body again, like he can try to take better care of his body. It is his instrument after all, and it must be cared for. Experiencing pleasure and giving pleasure helps him center and ground himself. He knows what he needs to do. 

“Armie, can you hold my hand while I call Brian? I’m going to ask for a few days off and see if I can get in with my therapist.” 

“Anything you need, I’ll do it. Let’s clean up and get dressed, then call,” Armie suggests. Timothée nods in agreement and kisses Armie one more time. 

“Thank you,” Timothée whispers.


End file.
